


a drabble

by thenbh



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, and shit like that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2013-04-27
Packaged: 2017-12-09 15:04:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/775576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenbh/pseuds/thenbh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a drabble about first kisses and it's so shit but it's for danielle, so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a drabble

**Author's Note:**

> don't

            Harry is 11 and Louis is 14 when he realizes he is in love. It’s one of those things that just happens, that just hits him out of nowhere, blinding him. Because, he’s been cruising down this nice highway, right, clear of feelings and then, bam, it hits his windshield and he’s so fucking gone, now. At eleven-years-old, The Harry Styles is in love – with his very straight best friend.

They’re in Louis’ room, doing homework and occasionally looking up at each other to smile. The window is wide open, it brings in a breeze that has goose bumps raising on Harry’s arms. It’s the middle of November and it’s kind of freezing in here, but. He will not tell Louis, he won’t. Harry is a big boy, he’s 11, for God’s sake. Plus, Louis would call him a baby if he told him and Harry is _not_ a baby, he’s got one hair under his arm, thank you very much.

“Harry, are you shivering?” Louis asks abruptly, dropping his pencil to touch his hand to Harry’s arm, sending even more shivers down Harry’s spine. Harry wants to push Louis off of him, yell and beg him not to ever touch him again. Harry is cold, and scared, and confused. He doesn’t know if he wants Louis or if he wants to throw up on him and bury the boy under the ground and never see him again. His mind is telling him it’s the latter, to whack him in the head with his math textbook and to smile while doing it. He can’t do that, though, because Louis is moving his hand, now, and Harry likes the way his skin prickles, but warms nonetheless. And Harry loves Louis’ blue eyes, the pools of heat that pour out of them. He could cry, he thinks.

“No, I’m fine, I swear.” Louis tsks at his friend, knowing better than to trust Harry when he says he’s fine. Harry’s hands are itching for that math textbook, he needs to get Louis to stop touching him. “I’m just…” he trails off, because he’s a wimp, in all honesty, “I’m cold, okay, close the bloody window!” Louis chuckles at that, Louis chuckles at every misfortune of Harry’s, but he closes the window anyway, opting to leave it open  _just a tad, so we’re both satisfied._

They continue working, scribbling and erasing and groaning occasionally. Harry doesn’t get much work done. He forgets how to divide in the way Louis is biting down on his pencil. He forgets what numbers 20 is divisible by in Louis’ furrowed eyebrows and eyelashes. Louis is so pretty, so freaking beautiful that it hurts Harry, kind of. He wants Louis, but he doesn’t at the same time. He wants to tell Louis, but he can’t risk to ruin it, he just –

“I love you,” he says, and it doesn’t even mean to come out. It just does, the words spill out of Harry’s mouth like vomit and they’re stinking up the room. Harry feels sick, he feels stupid, actually. Louis looks up, eyes narrowing before widening back to their normal size. Harry looks around for a bin, somewhere, there needs to be one in here.

Louis laughs (he actually laughs, great), “Aw, Haz, I love you too, mate!” He claps a hand on Harry’s shoulder, giggling. Okay, if Harry was going to puke before, he’s going to puke out his insides in their entirety, now. Louis thinks he’s in best-friend-love with him, and he’s not. He doesn’t want to go get manicures with Louis and he doesn’t want to get his hair done, either. Harry wants to kiss Louis until they’re breathless and he wants to break the skin on his neck with his teeth.

“No, I’m-“ Harry stops himself before doing anything stupid. He weighs his options: tell Louis or don’t tell Louis and lead a miserable life while he gets girlfriend after girlfriend or tell Louis, you wimp. “It’s just – I’m not – I’m in love with you. I’ve been sucked into this black hole that is you and it’s never ending, Lou, it just keeps pulling me and pulling me. You just – you’re brilliant.” He finishes with a glance at Louis’ gaping face and then with a laugh that sounds more than a sob, but. Louis is still gaping, apparently, because he hasn’t said anything. He’s been completely silent, fingers fiddling with each other in his lap. Harry is contemplating making a run for the door or if he should just jump out of the window. Louis clears his throat and Harry does , too.

He finally looks up, after awkward silence that didn’t need to be present if Harry had just kept his mouth shut. “I’m not sure I understand,” is all Louis utters. He has that _look_ on his face, the one that’s reserved for times when he’s either confused or disgusted. It can be either or both in this situation and Harry doesn’t want to think about it. “You’re – you, Harry, are in love with me?” He asks it like it’s the stupidest thing he’s heard in his life. Harry’s life is laughable at this point; utterly pointless and it’s practically a ticking time bomb.

He nods, though, nods to tell Louis that yes, I am and I think you should attach your lips to mine. Louis nods curtly, bottom lip tucked into his mouth, just the way he does when he’s nervous or concentrating super hard. “Okay.” Okay. He says okay. Louis is “okay” with his best friend being in love with him; “okay” with 11-year-old Harry wanting to mark up every inch of his body; just “okay”.

Harry doesn’t want “okay”, though. No, Harry wants “Me, too”, he wants Louis to love him back and he wants Louis to admit that he’s got a crush on him, too. Because, he does, for shit’s sake. Louis does have a crush on Harry, everyone says so, so why can’t he just do something about it. Oh, Harry will tell you why, because Louis is an even bigger baby, that’s right. He’s afraid and Harry isn’t and something needs to be done about it.

Louis is still looking down at his lap, thumbs playing a vicious game of thumb war with themselves. Harry hooks his index finger under Louis’ chin and tugs it up, meeting warm lips with his own. The kiss is timid, unresponsive, and one-sided. It’s just lips against lips and wide, blue eyes staring at soft, green ones. Harry moves back, scared shitless that maybe that’s not what Louis wanted at all; maybe Louis was actually thinking of kicking Harry out of his house seconds ago. But then, hands are pulling at his neck and Louis’ lips are moving against his in slow, languid motions. As far as first kisses go, this one has to be the best one for Harry (he’s only ever had one other first kiss and that was with his sister’s best friend that one time, but.) Louis is smiling into the kiss, pulling away before their teeth can meet awkwardly. He’s staring at Harry with stars in his eyes, and hell if it’s not the best he’s ever looked.

And the entire night is spent like that. Louis and Harry gazing at each other, touching and exploring nervously. No words are exchanged, except for the occasional, “yeah, okay” and the breathless gasps that escape both of their mouths when things align just right. It’s Louis and Harry in Louis’ racecar bed, writing a story with their hands and mouths, and ending it with a lazy kiss and semicolon. Ending it, but not really. Because they’re only 11 and 14 and they have their entire lives to do so much more. 

**Author's Note:**

> pretend it never happened


End file.
